Dragon Axe
by atomicpen
Summary: Set after the Elenium. What happens when.. things from another world start showing up in Eosia? -ON HIATUS-
1. Chapter One

**A/N:** Okay. I'm gonna revamp this a bit. I haven't touched it in two years (sad, I know) so I'm going to read over it again, edit it (blahblahblah) and continue it. Yes, you can all thank SweetLee for convincing me to ressurect it. D

So I took out the first chapter (what was before) entirely since a) I've lost it, b) I have no idea what was in it, and c) I think the story is better without it, and it wasn't important anyway.

I also changed the title to make more sense with the story, overall. D

**Disclaimer:** So, yes. I do not claim ownership of Bevier—whom seems to be coming the main character in this story, but there's nothing wrong with that—or Ulath, or Kalten, or Sparhawk, or Talen, or Danae… and anyone else who happens to pop up in here. With the exception of anyone who isn't in the books. Unless mentioned otherwise, the people whom you crazy fellow Eddings fanatics don't recognise are mine. Yah.

**---------------------------**

**Chapter One**

Ulath and Bevier tugged a half-conscious, muttering, and rather unhappy Kalten back to the Pandion Chapterhouse. He mumbled something that was slurred and incomprehensible, and tried to open his bloodshot eyes, but to no avail; they just didn't seem to want to stay open.

"Rrghnuh," Kalten said after a while.

"It's your fault for drinking seventeen tankards of ale last night," Ulath told him. His head was only marginally pounding, though he wasn't in the best of moods, either. "Were you celebrating something last night that you neglected to tell us?"

"Ungh," the Pandion replied, his head rolling back so that his face was up at the sky.

"Well, then, you shouldn't have drunk that much. Maybe if you would have taken up the offer of that nice barmaid instead—" Bevier cut Ulath off, flushing a bright red.

"Look, there's the Pandion Chapterhouse," the young Arcian said hastily, hefting the half of Kalten he had hold of more quickly to the Chapterhouse.

Ulath cast Bevier a half-amused glance as he looked at the slowly nearing Chapterhouse. The Genidian grunted, shifting the big Pandion's weight.

"He's got to stuff himself with food every time he goes anywhere, doesn't he?" Ulath grumbled.

The two Pandions standing guard at the gate caught sight of the advancing Church Knights. One stepped forward to go through the ritual, but with a glance from Ulath, he half-smiled and backed off.

"Sir Kalten drank too much, didn't he?" the knight who had stepped forward asked, his horse pawing at the ground a bit.

"I think that might be an understatement," Bevier replied, shifting Kalten's weight as well. "At least he didn't wear his armour," he added, mostly to himself.

"We would have left him in the inn," Ulath responded flatly. Bevier gave him a slightly startled glance.

"But surely we would eventually had—"

"We would have left him in the inn." The tone of the massive Thalesian's voice was sour, and halted any more of Bevier's objections. The two mounted Pandion knights laughed.

"Do you know where Sir Kalten's room is, Sir Ulath?" the other knight inquired.

Ulath rumbled in a response that the knights took for an affirmative, and they stepped out of his way. Ulath and Bevier dragged Kalten back to his room and deposited him unceremoniously on his bed. The big Pandion groaned and rubbed his face.

"Mmmrhnnuh," he stated.

"I wouldn't advise speech just yet, Kalten," Ulath said. "You drank quite a bit, and coherency was never one of your strong points."

"Rrrg," Kalten grumbled, his bloodshot eyes squeezed shut.

"That's right," The Genidian said convivially, patting Kalten's arm. The look he shot Bevier, however, was far from companionable. "Just sleep it off. We'll come by later to see if you're up to forming words." He turned to Bevier. "There's not much else we can do for him—other then let him wallow in his headache." Apparently, Ulath's mood hadn't brightened any, and he felt that since Kalten was the one who had taken him out drinking, the Pandion should be blamed as well. "I hope his headache is worse than mine," was all he said as he left the room—probably to find a nice cool basin of water to dunk his head in—leaving Bevier with the Pandion alone.

The young Cyrinic sighed a bit as he watched Kalten rearrange himself and make garbled noises on his rumpled bed. Half of him felt that he needed to pray for Kalten's soul, but the other told him that he should leave the big man to his hangover.

"It's his fault, anyway," the Arcian murmured. "Ulath's right. I can't do anything more for him."

Shaking his head a bit, Bevier turned and left the room, almost colliding into a hooded figure outside. Assuming it was a Pandion knight, he was about to apologise, when he noticed glossy black hair hanging from under the hood.

"Princess Danae?" Bevier said, surprised.

She pushed back the brown hood and smiled sweetly. "Hello Bevier. How's Kalten?"

"In pain," he replied. "What are you doing here, Princess?" Softly, he reached behind and closed the door to Kalten's room.

She shrugged her slim shoulders. "Visiting," came her vague answer.

"Your father?" Danae's smile grew. "Or Talen?" Bevier smiled a bit as he saw her face redden slightly. "So I'm guessing your father doesn't know of your whereabouts."

The Princess pulled her hood back up. "No, he doesn't." She looked at him with large, innocent eyes. "You won't tell him, will you?"

Bevier's smile widened. "No, I won't, Princess. Why don't you go find Talen?" She giggled and hurried past him, vanishing from sight quickly thereafter. The Cyrinic held his hands behind his back as he walked through the Pandion Chapterhouse. He, unlike his brother knights, had no hangover whatsoever; he hadn't drunk more than a tankard of Arcian Red.

Idly, he wondered how Vanion and Sephrenia were doing. Vanion had fallen into bad health during the years immediately following the disappearance of Bhelliom—the young Arcian still hadn't sorted that whole lot out, theologically, anyway—but he had seemed better when Aphrael invited them to her house again to mark the coming of spring. Of course, Bevier knew about what sorts of feelings were between the former preceptor and teacher; anyone with eyes knew what was between them. But he didn't really approve of such couplings. He had seen the Zemochs and he wasn't sure if he was comfortable with it. It wasn't the physical appearances that bothered him; it was the religious views. Styrics, helpful and primitively innocent though they were, were still heathens, while Elenes followed the true faith. Well, most of the Elenes, Bevier consented, his thoughts flickering to the Eshandists. Then again, after what he and the others went through in Zemoch… Bevier shook his head. He would have to rethink many of the ideals he had held as truths before that had happened. And to think, he hadn't even been there when Azash, whether he had been a god or a Styric magician, was destroyed. It was blasphemous for one of the Elene faith to even acknowledge the existence of any other gods—or goddesses. And yet, there was Aphrael. True, she _could_ just be a very talented Styric child, but somehow the Cyrinic Champion doubted that. After Sparhawk had told him what happened in Ghwerig's cave, Bevier wasn't as sure about his unwavering convictions in the Church—at least, inwardly he wasn't so sure; he would never allow any of those inner feelings to escape into the open. At first, he hadn't believed what Sparhawk had told him, but after weighing the fact of Sparhawk's religious fervour—rather, a lack thereof—against the Pandion's honesty, the latter won, and Bevier was forced to look at everything again.

The Cyrinic pushed such thoughts away for the moment as he reached the door to the preceptor's office. Knocking lightly, he waited until he heard the inhabitant's voice drift out to invite him in.

"Enter," a slightly weary voice said.

Bevier opened the door and smiled as he looked upon his old friend once more. "Hello, Prince Consort," he said, mostly to tease Sparhawk.

The man in question was currently scribbling something angrily on a piece of paper, and replied irritably, apparently not identifying the voice, "I wish you'd all drop that absurd title."

"Is that any way to talk to a friend?" At that, Sparhawk looked up and a smile spread over his face, the lines of anger dissipating.

"Bevier," he said, his tone much lighter than before. "I didn't recognise your voice." He motioned to the seats in the room. "Please, have a seat. It'll only take me a moment to finish this, and then we can talk."

The young Arcian nodded and sat down in a nearby chair as he watched Sparhawk resume his writing. The dark look that had furrowed his brow before Bevier had entered returned. His friend had aged over the small span of years, the Cyrinic noted. Bevier had never really perceived it before, but perhaps that was because the Arcian never actually had the chance to study his friend for so long. Sparhawk's face had never been truly young since Bevier had known him, but now his face was drawn, and his cheekbones were more prominent than Bevier remembered, almost as if he hadn't been eating enough. He didn't look like he had been deprived of any sleep, however. As it was, he looked weary, if not from lack of sleep then from all the matters of state affairs and the responsibilities being a preceptor entailed. The Cyrinic could tell that his friend didn't want any of these things; all he wanted was to live his life out in peace, with his wife and daughter, without all these things troubling him. Bevier sighed inwardly. But, more often than not, the things that one wants isn't given to one, no matter how hard one strives to achieve them, even if all one wants is peace and quiet.

He waited patiently as Sparhawk finished his paperwork. Soon, the Pandion completed and he let out a sigh and sat back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment and rubbing his face. When he removed his hands, he smiled, and Bevier saw the age seep out of his friend's skin.

"Now," Sparhawk said, "on to more important things. How've you been?" He folded his hands on the desk before him, his dark eyes intent upon Bevier.

The young Arcian shrugged a bit. "I've been well." He cleverly suppressed a smile. "Your friend Kalten, I'm afraid, is not. And Sir Ulath didn't look too able-bodied last I saw him, either."

"Kalten took him out drinking, didn't he?" Bevier nodded.

"They dragged me along. For such a display of…" He trailed off for a moment, searching for the right word.

"Inanity?" Sparhawk supplied.

"Yes, thank you. For such a display of inanity, it was quite amusing to see Kalten dance on a table." The Cyrinic allowed a grin to slip through.

"He sang, didn't he?"

"You mean you didn't hear him?" Sparhawk laughed, and Bevier added, "Although I'm not inclined to call what he did 'singing'."

"I think he's tone deaf," Sparhawk said thoughtfully. "He's in his room, cradling his head as we speak, isn't he?"

The Arcian nodded. "And I wouldn't be surprised if we'd find Ulath with his head in a bucket of water. He didn't drink as much, though."

"Well, of course not. Ulath has common sense." They both laughed, and an awkward silence fell over the room afterward.

"So, how are Kurik's boys doing?" Bevier asked, seeking for a conversation topic.

"Quite well, actually. Khalad still insists upon being my squire, though." Sparhawk sighed, his face saddened at the memory of Kurik. "Talen is excelling in his studies, physical as well as intellectual. Kurik would have been proud."

Bevier's voice was soft as he spoke. "Sparhawk, I think he always was." The Pandion nodded his agreement, taking a moment and a deep breath to regain his composure. Even after a few years, the wound of Kurik's death was still a sore one.

Thinking quickly to change the subject, the Cyrinic asked, "I do not mean to intrude, but you looked somewhat irritated when I first came in. What was it that you were writing on?"

The big Pandion's face darkened a bit. "The newest petition that Lenda's given me. Apparently, some backwater estate in God-knows-what part of Elenia needs some pointless re-modelling. I put something along the lines of, 'Since you're so keen on doing this, Lenda, why don't you sponsor it? With all of your petition this, and request that, the treasury is a bit short. You seem to be the one with all the money. I've got a few debts myself. Maybe I should send a petition to you to pay them'." He paused for a moment, a thoughtful expression sliding across his face. "You know, I've heard a rumour that's going about lately. Have you heard it?"

"I won't until you tell me. You're being very cryptic, Sparhawk," Bevier replied.

"Sorry. Well, it seems that there's a new order of knights that have been seen somewhere in Pelosia."

"A new order of knights? Are they Church knights?"

Sparhawk smiled and shook his head in answer to Bevier's question, as well as his apparent unworldly-ness. "No, I don't think they are, but I can't really say. All I've heard are rumours. "

That was all that was said about anything new. The two friends spent the better part of the day reminiscing about their adventure with Bhelliom, laughing at the good times, and mourning the bad. It must have been a few hours before sunset when Bevier stood regretfully and sighed.

"I must be off. I want to go back home; my mother hasn't been too well lately, and I think that she doesn't have too much time left."

Sparhawk nodded. "Please, give her my regards, Bevier, and a safe journey to you." He stood as well and strode over to the Cyrinic, clapping the younger man on the back before giving a short embrace. Bevier returned the friendly affection, smiling a bit sadly.

"At least we're parting on happier times, Sparhawk," Bevier said softly. It was apparent his thoughts were on his mother.

The Pandion nodded. "Don't be afraid to stop in once and a while, Bevier. It's rather dreary here, and it likes to rain a lot. Company is more than welcome." His face creased into a smile again.

They clasped hands once more, and then Bevier turned and left the room to prepare for the ride back. Even though it would be dark in a few hours, he wanted to get out on the road; he had told Sparhawk a belated truth. His mother was terminally ill, he knew. She only had a few weeks left, everyone was sure of that, even she. The young Arcian said a hurried farewell to the others and swung up onto his horse, latching his Lochaber in the saddle holster. The two Pandion guards moved out of his way, and he galloped out of the Chapterhouse, white cloak streaming out behind him.


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer:** As you all know, I don't own any of Eddings' characters. Although, technically, I suppose you could say that Bevier's mother is mine… because I don't think that David Eddings made any mention of her. So… yeah! First character of mine! grin Don't worry… there will be more. nod nod

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**Chapter Two**

The journey back to Arcium was the longest he ever remembered making. On his way, he stopped at Chyrellos, and spent a day there, praying for forgiveness of his sins, and he prayed for Kalten's as well. After he felt sufficiently purged, Bevier left for his home in Arcium again, going quickly, but not so fast as to over-exert himself or his horse, Caedryn.

An excruciating four days later, the young Cyrinic arrived at his home. Though he was bursting with apprehension, Bevier forced himself not to rush; he very nearly calmly dismounted and passed his grey stallion to the able-handed stable boys. Unhooking his Lochaber and his packs from the saddle, he walked inside and nonchalantly tossed them—well, the packs he tossed. He placed his axe down with care—into his room before heading to his mother's suits.

The servants milling about his mother's suits recognised him, and smiled wanly, their joy to have him come home over-masked by their sadness for the lady of the house's welfare. The permitted him entrance to her room, and he strode in, concern writ over his olive-hued face. She was sleeping at the moment, and the servants who were tending to her backed away as Bevier approached. His mother was pale, paler than he remembered, and she looked underfed. He knew this was not the case, however; the servants loved his mother dearly and would never allow her to go hungry for whatever reason. As he drew near, she stirred and wrinkled her nose a bit.

"Bevier," she said weakly, not bothering to open her eyes, "it's nice of you to come see me, but go wash up first. You smell like an armoury that's been rained on for a year."

The young Arcian flushed. He had completely forgotten that he was still in full armour. He wouldn't normally have ridden in it, but it was more of a hassle to carry it than to wear it, so he had worn it.

"Yes, mother," he replied obediently, and left promptly to wash up.

In about a half an hour, Bevier returned to his mother's room and found her sitting, propped up on several pillows, and the young Arcian was dismayed to see how thin and fragile his mother had become. She smiled faintly when she saw him, clad in a soft tunic and hose instead of steel.

"Mother," he said, sitting on the bed beside her.

She lifted her arms slightly in a silent request and he gladly leaned over and hugged her. Bevier distraughtly noted how light she was, and he tried not to let his worry show in his features.

"How have you been?" he asked her.

"Dying," she replied, rather placidly.

"_Mother_!" he exclaimed, taken aback.

"Oh, please, Bevier. Don't act so surprised. You know it, I know it; everyone here knows it. I've been dying for quite some time now, and I can feel the pain of it starting to ease away. The time is soon, I think," she added pensively, as if she were talking about the weather, or the state of politics.

"Mother, don't say such things," her son nearly pleaded, his dark eyes searching her face.

She smiled benignly and touched Bevier's cheek lovingly. "My dear, dear son," she said gently, "everyone dies sooner or later. It's something we can't change no matter how much we want to, because it is all part of God's will."

He swallowed down the lump in his throat and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill forth. "That doesn't mean I have to like it," he whispered.

"No, of course not," she answered, pulling him into a hug again.

They sat there for a moment until his mother drew back, sniffing.

"Where are my manners? Preceptor Abriel called for you while you were in Cimmura. He said that he wanted to speak with you when you got back, but he also said that not to rush; it apparently isn't all that urgent."

Bevier nodded. "I'll go see him in a few days, then. Thank you, Mother." He was loath to leave her so soon, but duty was duty, after all. It was like his mother had said, that there are some things that happen—or that one must do—that aren't pleasurable, but must be done, since it was all part of God's will.

What neither of the Arcians knew, however, was which will of which god—goddess, more accurately.

**---------------------------**

A few days later, the Cyrinic Champion saddled Caedryn and rode off to the Cyrinic Chapterhouse, regretfully leaving his frail mother in the hands of her capable servants. It wasn't that he didn't trust the servants, but he would have much rather been by her side as well. He sighed and pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind as the Chapterhouse drew near. Two large, pristine Cyrinic knights at the gate, their visors down, greeted him.

"Who art thou who wouldst enter into the house of God?" one of them asked.

"I am Sir Bevier, son of God and brother to this exulted house," the Arcian replied.

"Canst thou prove that thou art truly a son of the Most Holy, and a brother to this divine house?"

At that prompt, Bevier reached into his tunic and pulled out a silver pendant that all the Cyrinic knights wore, distinguishing them from those who would pretend to be of the order; the intricacies of the design was hard to reproduce by mere amateurs.

"By troth, thou art a true son of God and brother to this house." The knight who spoke raised his visor, the other following suit soon after. "Thou may enter, noble Sir Bevier." A smile broke out over the knight's face. "And welcome back," he added in a normal tone, opposed to the formal one he had donned while going through the ritual.

"Thank you, Sir Llowen. I presume Lord Abriel is in his study?"

"Aye, I believe so."

"Yet again, thank you." He didn't have to nudge Caedryn forward between the two knights, who moved obligingly out of the way for him. "May God be with you," he said to them.

"And with you."

Bevier left Caedryn with the novitiates in the stables and made his way to the main building inside the sturdy walls of the Chapterhouse. He didn't bother to go to his room and don the cowled robe that the knights normally wore when inside. He strode purposefully down to the preceptor's study, the layout of the building not unlike the Pandion's Chapterhouse. He knocked lightly on the door and awaited Abriel's summons.

"Enter." The voice, unlike Sparhawk's had been, was strong and unwavering. Then again, Abriel didn't have three other titles and a wife and daughter to think about.

The young Arcian went into the room, closing the door softly behind him, then straightened and bowed low to his preceptor. "Thou art kind to bid mine lowly self entrance," Bevier said formally.

"Thou art noble enough to earn it," Abriel said, concluding the short ritualistic greeting. "What brings you here, Bevier?"

"My mother said that you had stopped by and wanted to talk to me about something," Bevier said, taking a seat.

"Ah, yes. I did." The preceptor sat back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. "There have been some rumours of a new order of knights somewhere in Pelosia."

Bevier nodded. "Before I left Cimmura, Sparhawk informed me of that."

"What else did he tell you?"

"Nothing more than that there were rumours going about. That's all he knew as well."

"I see. The people have been reporting strange things when they claim to have seen these 'knights'."

"Oh? What sort of strange things?"

"Dragons."

Bevier stared at his preceptor a moment and stifled a laugh. "_Dragons_?"

"Yes, I do believe that's what I said."

"You can't be serious!"

"I'm not the one making these claims, Bevier. The people in Pelosia are," Abriel replied calmly.

The young Arcian shook his head. "I find that hard to believe. The dragons, I mean," he clarified.

Abriel nodded. "As do I. Which is why I'm sending you to find out if there's some substantiality to these rumours, and that it isn't just some renegade Styric magician playing some hoax." Obviously, Abriel was thinking back to the renegade Pandion, Martel.

"That's more probable," Bevier said, although a bit unsure of himself, considering Aphrael.

"I'm glad you think so. I want a full report on what's really happening out there. No rush, though. If it is a hoax, then there really isn't much danger." He didn't say anything about the possibility that the rumours might be true.

Bevier took his cue and stood, bowing. "Of course, Lord Abriel. I'll ride out to Pelosia in a few days. I… I want to stay with my mother a little longer."

"I understand completely, Sir Bevier. She was looking…" Abriel paused.

"Not well?" Bevier said bitterly. "Yes, I know. She thinks the time is near."

"I'm sorry," Abriel said most sincerely. "If there's anything I can do…"

The young Arcian shook his head. "Don't trouble yourself with it. It's just a bit disconcerting to hear her talk about her own death so… nonchalantly." He took a deep breath. "She's in the hands of God now—or, at least, she will be soon." A morbid streak was running through the Cyrinic Champion as of late. Maybe this little expedition would do him good. It would keep his mind off his mother… most of the time. He had been getting restless as of late anyway; his soul yearned for travel. As much as he didn't want to leave his mother, he didn't want to have to think about her dying… he didn't want to have to see her dying.

Saying a final farewell to his preceptor, Bevier left the study, and slowly made his way out of the Chapterhouse.

**---------------------------**

A week later, Bevier found himself strolling through the gardens of his beloved home. It was the middle of the night, and he wasn't quite sure how he got there. He remembered dreaming about the Bhelliom, and Aphrael. She had beckoned him from somewhere, but no matter how fast he ran to get to her, she seemed to always stay just out of reach. And so it was that he ended up in the gardens. Bevier paused by a particularly exotic-looking flower and supposed that he must have been sleepwalking to end up here. Taking a deep breath and savouring the glorious scent of the gardens before he left on another journey, Bevier sat down on a stone bench nearby. Soon afterward, the Arcian heard the sound of a crude shepherd's pipes coming from deeper within the gardens. Narrowing his eyes a bit, he stood and followed the sound, ready to scold Aphrael when he saw her, but he knew that idea was futile. He couldn't help but love the Child Goddess Aphrael—he didn't think that there were very many people who didn't love her.

As he expected, he found her perched on another stone bench, surrounded by dogwood trees and flowers of all sorts. Her little feet—which always seemed to have grass stains—were idly swinging back and forth as she played a happy little tune, though it almost sounded as if it were in a minor key. A smile crept over Bevier's face involuntarily as he neared the little girl, and it merely widened as she saw him and took the pipes away from her lips, her little rose bud mouth spreading in its own smile.

"Hello, Bevier, so nice of you to join me. You certainly took your time." She held her arms out to him and he knelt in front of the bench, hugging her as she smothered his face in kisses for a few minutes. "Now," she said when she felt he had been sufficiently kissed, "for the reason I've brought you here."

"I thought you might have had something to do with it," he said idly. "But couldn't you have just come to me?"

She grinned. "Oh, it's so much _nicer_ here than it is in your stuffy room," she explained. Before he could say anything to that, however, the little Child Goddess held up her dainty fingers to his lips and continued. "I'd love to have idle chatter with you, Bevier, I really would, but I actually have a reason for being here."

Bevier nodded and obediently sat back on his heels, watching her intently. This caused Aphrael to smile broadly.

"You're such a nice boy," she complimented him. "But there's no time for that. The rumours that you've been told about aren't merely rumours. There, in fact, is a new order of knights in Pelosia. They aren't from this world, however." She paused a moment, as if expecting Bevier to say something, but when he didn't, she resumed. "I can't tell you what world it is, at the moment, though. That doesn't matter much anyway; you'll probably find out in due time." She thoughtfully tapped her fingers on the shepherd's pipes. "But you can't go into this not knowing anything. First things first, these knights will be unlike any knights you've encountered before. You'll see what I mean," she said before Bevier could ask anything, "when you meet one." Aphrael smiled, thinking over her plans for the young Arcian.

"How do you know I'll meet one?" Bevier inquired.

Aphrael feigned innocence. "I've got a hunch," she replied.

"Well, if you say so," the Arcian said.

Aphrael laughed, giving Bevier a number of kisses, and hugging him tightly. "You'll do _just_ fine," she murmured to him.

Bevier pulled back and gave the small Goddess a puzzled look. He was about to ask her what she meant when he woke up. Sitting up in his bed, he glanced around, confused for a moment until he realised he was in his room. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Bevier wondered if he had actually been to the garden, and if he had actually met Aphrael there, or if it had all been a dream. He glanced out the window. He didn't think that he would ever be truly certain of either possibility; you could never tell with Aphrael. He was sure it hadn't been a normal dream, however; it felt as if it had really happened. His thoughts flickered back to the dream he and all the others had shared while they were in Zemoch, before reaching the city. That had been a dream, he was sure, but it had been so real. He sighed and decided not to think of that.

The little Goddess had told him that this new order of knights were different than any other order he'd come across before, but he didn't really see how that could be. Of course, each order was a bit different, Bevier granted her that, but the fundamentals, values, and chivalric codes were the same. The Cyrinic assumed that those values would hold true to any knighthood, for how could one become a knight unless one believed and practiced such ideals?

Deciding firmly that was the case, and that Aphrael was probably mistaken in her judgement—not wrong, only mistaken, mind you—the Arcian fell back on his bed and slowly drifted back to sleep. He would leave for Pelosia in the morning.


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N:** Okay… sorry this took a bit longer than the others, but I didn't have it started before I finished the last chapter—which is how I was doing the last ones, like before I uploaded Chapter One, I already had a few pages of Two, and so forth and so on. But you don't care how I write these bloody things, do you? You just care that I do. Or… not. shrugs Hey, at least I like it, and that matters. Well… it matters that you guys—and lassies—like it too. I love it when people review my stories, and they like it too. They feel loved then. Oh, and Ara, thanks for pointing out my stupidity—no, I'm actually not being sarcastic here—about Abriel… but that's why I set it after the Sapphire Rose and before the Tamuli.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of David Eddings characters. I own, in some sort of strange way, perhaps, Bevier's mother, Tsaran, Caedryn, and whoever or whatever may appear in this story that isn't found in those wonderful books.

**---------------------------**

**Chapter Three**

It was a week and a half into his ride to Pelosia, Bevier was startled to see Ulath and Kalten ride up to him, grins plastered on their faces.

"What brings you two out here?" the Arcian asked.

"Someone needs to keep an eye on you," Kalten answered. Bevier's face flushed a bit with anger.

"I can take care of myself quite nicely, Sir Kalten," he said calmly as his rising anger would allow. "The fact that I'm the youngest Champion of the orders doesn't mean a wit. I _am_ the Cyrinic Champion, after all, and I didn't get to be it by hiding behind anyone else," he said, probably more heatedly than he intended.

"What my dim-witted friend here is failing to say, is that we had nothing better to do, and we caught word that you were going to investigate this so called "new order" of knights in Pelosia, so we took it upon ourselves to join you. Kalten was just trying to be clever, and, well, we all know how good he is at doing that," Ulath drawled sarcastically.

Kalten looked hurt. "I was just trying to make a joke," he replied.

"They key word being '_trying_'," the Genidian told him.

Bevier's anger faded in an instant, replaced with embarrassment. His face flushed more as he lowered his eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled, but neither of the other two men heard him; they were busy arguing about whether or not Kalten should have brought two flasks of ale or four.

"I'm telling you, if I would have brought only two, we'd be out in a flash!"

"And four's going to make a difference? Two would have been less to carry. If you'd get your mind away from alcohol for even a minute, it might make looking for things easier, and you'd have a whole hell of a lot less headaches," Ulath retorted, the three men urging their horses back into motion once more.

"You drink as much as I do sometimes!"

"Sometimes, Kalten. Sometimes. Besides, I'm bigger than you, if even by a little, and I can take a lot of alcohol. What do you think Wargun did all the time? He was never seen without a flask."

Bevier didn't say anything as they travelled, and Ulath and Kalten kept up a steady stream of words. He had expected to go on this alone. It would have given him time to think—not that he didn't like Ulath and Kalten's company, but he wasn't sure if he wanted it at the moment or not. At least they would keep his thoughts from wandering to his mother's looming death too much. In any case, they were going to accompany him whether he wanted them to or not; he would have to deal with it.

They stopped for the night just outside the Pelosian border. If they had felt like it, the three knights could have gone into Pelosia and camped there, but none of them were in any real hurry. So Bevier and Kalten went about setting up their camp while Ulath went in search of a stream. As they all sat around the fire a bit later, Kalten, before he grasped what he was asking, said:

"Ulath, who's turn is it to cook?"

Bevier busied himself with making a spit to hide his smile. Kalten realised what he had asked and gritted his teeth.

"Yours," Ulath replied with a grin.

"Can't I get out of it?"

"Nope. You asked; you get to cook."

Bevier looked up at gave Ulath a pained look. "Are you sure you want to make _him_ cook?" Ulath thought that over.

"You're right. You can cook."

"Hey!" Bevier and Kalten said at the same time.

The big Thalesian shrugged. "Kalten, your cooking is the worst I've ever tasted, and Bevier, you haven't cooked for a while and you asked. That's the way things work."

"I knew I shouldn't have let you two join me," the young Arcian said grouchily, standing to go hunt for their dinner. Ulath noted that and held a dead rabbit up by its feet.

"I found it half dead by the stream," he explained. "So I finished it and brought it back." Bevier took the rabbit from the Genidian and took out some bread and cheese from his pack, starting to cook their meal. He sighed.

**---------------------------**

_Darkness shrouds the sky, cloaks his sight. He hears his mother screaming; he hears a man's laughter, joined soon after by other voices. He cries out, grasping blindly in the blackness, trying to reach his mother, but he can't see her. She sounds too far out of his reach, and he can't seem to move. A sharp pain sears through his back, from right shoulder blade to left hip. He feels wetness seep out of his skin, rolling down his back, staining the thin tunic he wears. He calls out "Mother!" again as another piercing sting rips through his body, although he cannot tell from where this time. It feels as though he is made entirely of pain, and therefore is not capable of pinpointing the place of new pain. This repeats over and over as he still cries out for his mother; he can still hear her terrified shrieks. Then, they stop, abruptly. This frightens him more so than her screams. He struggles in vain against the invisible bonds holding him, and—_

"Bevier!" Kalten shook him awake. "You were yelling in your sleep." The big Pandion sat back on his heels as Bevier sat up, his breath short and ragged and his body covered in a cold sweat. "Did you have a nightmare?" Kalten asked him.

The Arcian took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Of sorts. I'm fine now." He opened his eyes and looked at Kalten. "I'll take over your watch since I'm already up." He got to his feet and stretched, unwrapping himself from his cloak. "Did you find a good spot?"

The Pandion nodded. "Underneath those branches over there," he answered, motioning. "I made a nice little niche in the ground, and it's actually quite comfortable."

"Kalten?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up and go to sleep." Bevier grunted a little and worked his way into the slightly larger niche that Kalten had created in the ground. The Pandion was a bit bigger than himself, so the little hole was roomy, and, surprisingly, as Kalten had said, comfortable.

As he sat and watched the nightly goings of the forest animals, he reflected on his dream. What could it mean? He knew that his mother was going to die, much as he didn't like to admit it. But she was going to die peacefully, her servants would see to that. But… he had been in his dream as well, and he had been tied down and tortured. Bevier shook his head. As far as he knew, he hadn't insulted anyone so much as to make them want to bring him harm lately. But then again, it could be a precognitive dream. The Cyrinic shook his head as the sun started to break through the edge of the forest; they weren't camped too far from the border of trees, so he was able to see through the moderately dense foliage. Whatever reason he had had that dream for, he was in the hands of God, and it was up to Him to decide if the dream meant something significant or not. He would have to meditate on it sometime.

His thoughts turned to Aphrael. She had come to him—rather, he had been summoned to her—to tell him of the rumoured new order of knights, but she hadn't told him very much about them. The Child Goddess had told Bevier that the knights were from a different world—a preposterous idea—and that they were unlike the knights he now knew of. Again, he found that hard to swallow. Ulath stirred behind him, halting any more thoughts on reflecting Bevier might have had.

The young Arcian turned to his companion, who was now sitting and stretching his massively muscled limbs. Bevier smiled warmly.

"Good morning," he said.

"What's so good about it?" Ulath grumbled, glaring at him sleepily. "I've just slept on hard, cold, _wet_ ground, _and_ on rocks, and I don't really feel like moving." Bevier made no mention of the countless other times the Thalesian must have gone through this; it didn't seem like the best idea at the moment.

"Well," Kalten said as he returned from washing up at the stream. Bevier hadn't noticed he was gone. "You're just a ray of sunshine this morning, aren't you?"

"Shut. Up." Kalten laughed at his friend's hostility.

"What's for breakfast?" he asked. Ulath groaned.

"Don't you think of anything but your stomach?"

"Well, there's always pretty girls," Kalten said, implying much more with his tone and expression.

Ulath actually grinned a bit. "You've got me there."

Bevier, who had taken it upon himself to cook breakfast, flushed furiously and kept his eyes trained on the cooking food.

"We need to find him a wife," Kalten said to Ulath. The big Genidian nodded.

"A nice young virgin would do him a world of good."

"Are you sure you want to give him a virgin? Neither might not know what to do," Kalten mused.

"You're right." Ulath paused to think on this. "Maybe a nice, young… worldly woman instead."

"Didn't Sparhawk meet one in Cimmura?"

"Why, yes, I do believe he mentioned something of the sort at one point."

Their conversation stopped as Bevier cut it, red to the roots of his hair.

"That's quite enough," he said shortly. "I _am_ right here, you know."

"Oh, why so you are," Kalten said, feigning surprise.

"We thought you might get some ideas," Ulath added, albeit innocently.

Bevier was about to retort hotly when all three knights froze. Bevier glanced at Ulath and Kalten, the latter of who mouthed,

'Did you hear that?'

The Arcian slowly nodded, his hand straying to his Lochaber handle, just as Ulath and Kalten reached for their respective weapons, each careful not to make sudden movements.

As if sprouting from the trees themselves, at least twenty men leapt into the knights' encampment. They were armed with battered, second-hand, and entirely deadly weapons, along with mismatched armour. The brigands beset the knights with a battle cry. The church knights whipped out their weapons and counterattacked. It was a bloody battle, as they tend to be, and even though Ulath had seemed half-asleep a mere moment before, he was more than alert now, his great axe felling men with nearly every swing. Kalten was hacking away at two men, and Bevier was kept busy with two or three men who were determined to end his existence.

After the knights had extinguished the lives of at least half of the brigands, the rest turned and fled. Bevier, caught up in the heat of battle, which, stacked upon his fervour, caused him to whistle for Caedryn and swing up in the saddle, brandishing his bloody Lochaber. He didn't hear the calls of his brother knights, and rode off after the fleeing brigands, a war cry of his own in his lips. Ulath and Kalten ran after him a bit, but Bevier outdistanced them quickly.

"Ah, let him go. He needs the release of killing people. Keeps his mind off all that religion," Ulath said, dismissing the young Arcian with a motion of his hand.

"You're right. He'll come back when he's sure they're good and dead." Kalten's face brightened a bit evilly. "Maybe he'll do that praying thing again after. Remember when he did that at the Basilica all those years ago?"

The massive Thalesian nodded, cleaning off his axe. "I remember, though I'm not to sure he will. He's shrewder than he looks, and that was done a lot for show. He just might, however. If he leaves anyone alive," he added a bit darkly, scrutinizing the edge of his weapon. He sighed. "I just sharpened it, too," he said to no one in particular.

**---**

Bevier flew through the forest, chasing the brigands with his vicious axe raised. He didn't see it coming because of his battle-sight, which was focused entirely on the ending of his attackers' lives. Of course, this was the effect they had been hoping for. The young Cyrinic didn't even hear the familiar sound of stone whistling through the air. At least, he didn't know about it until it hit him in the back of the head. If he had been wearing his helmet, it wouldn't have really been a problem—he would have been jarred at most—but he wasn't dressed in his armour; they had just woken up and there hadn't been any time for such precautions. But Bevier was spared such thoughts as his vision flickered in and out, and consciousness slipped from his grasp.

The attackers watched the knight slump over his horse, though the loss of consciousness didn't make him lose his grip on that axe. They closed in on the still-trotting horse—Caedryn _knew_ something was amiss—just before they heard the sound of leathery wings slicing through the air.

**---------------------------**

At nightfall, Kalten looked around the camp for about the millionth time. "Shouldn't he be back by now?" he asked, referring to their missing companion.

"Maybe he decided he didn't like your cooking," Ulath said, poking at their food.

"I wasn't even cooking! _He_ was!"

"Maybe he wanted to leave. Stop clucking like a mother hen, Kalten. Bevier's a big boy; he can take care of himself."

The Pandion knight folded his arms over his chest and glared at his Genidian brother.

"You're very aggravating, do you know that?"

"I've been told so a few times," Ulath replied calmly, picking up a small wooden bowl and dumping some of what he had cooked into it. He handed it to Kalten. "Enjoy," he said with a completely straight face.

Kalten looked disdainfully at the brownish-grey lump oozing to fill the bowl in his hands.

"I hate you," he told Ulath. The Thalesian grinned wickedly at him.

**---------------------------**

Morning came slowly and haphazardly through the leaves of the canopy above Bevier. It spilled down over his sleeping face, making his olive-hued skin seemed enamelled with gold. He made a noncommittal noise and shifted a bit, his face scrunching with pain. Opening his dark eyes only to squeeze them shut again, he rolled over onto his side and curled up. His mind refused to let him go, however, now that it had been jolted awake by pain and sunlight. It was morning when he had left the camp, but he was asleep again. Was he knocked out? Where were the others? Where was his horse? Where was he, for that matter? He sat up, too quickly, and was forced to lie down again, or pass out from the pain. Blood rushed from his head, blanching his face a bit, and he shivered with the tingling heat the aching hurt caused him. Pushing the torrent of questions the floodgate of his mind had allowed entrance to, he slowly sat up, wincing a bit, and gazed at his surroundings.

He was in a camp of some kind, though not his. There were large marks on the ground across a blackened fire pit that he couldn't figure out the source of at the moment, and scuffs along the ground beside him, as if he had been dragged there. He rubbed the back of his neck tenderly and felt a lump the size of a goose's egg on the back of his head and grimaced, one eye closed. He remembered being hit with something solid—probably a rock—before he had passed out.

_Ah_, a voice said in his mind. _You're awake_. It sounded like smoke curling through the air would, if that had a sound, with the gentlest undertone of a rumble.

He glanced around for the source, and his gaze came to rest on a burgundy scaled beast of magnificence. The fact that it wasn't supposed to exist didn't seem to be bothering it. Bevier's eyes widened a bit, and his mouth hung open just before he fell back again, his eyes closing once more. The dragon shook its head a bit, its silvery eyes watching the Cyrinic with amusement as he settled down across the fire from the knight, on the giant marks, evidently made by its claws.


	4. Chapter Four

**A/N:** First things, first. I don't know why, but now not all of the "Chapter number" titles are bold. Fanfiction is not liking me at all, is it? sigh Just… pretend they are. And if anyone has a clue as to why some things aren't italic or bold, maybe that might help me fix it. grumbles Other than that… I don't really have anything to say in this right now. So I'll just keep typing this crap until I get some reviews for my stories. I need them, people! It keeps lunatics like me writing, and not doing other crazy things… like… liberating baboons or something. shrugs Oh, and Ara… I kind of specifically overdid that first description of the dragon to kind of set it apart. And yes, Lady Bevier, he would have kicked butt. Blast those conniving brigands and their rock-throwing skills! And you get a prize! You guessed that the person would be female! Huzzah for you! Your prize is… um… glances around Chocolate! Oh, and I've got a quiz on Quizilla now! It's "Which Elenium character are you?" Which I felt it needed, since that unfortunate site lacks any sort of Eddings quizzes whatsoever. But no worries now, brave people! I have remedied such blasphemy! So go there and check it out!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone you recognise from the books, but Nightflash and Valmai are mine, along with Bevier's mother, Tsaran, Caedryn, and anyone else who happens to crop up in here.

**---------------------------**

**Chapter Four**

When Bevier came to again, he wasn't alone. His dark eyes flickered over to the large form of the dragon he had seen before. He must be hallucinating, he told himself. It was only a side effect of him being hit so hard on the head. Sitting up, slowly, he saw that the sun had almost set. He raised a hand and put it to his head, closing his eyes.

"Oh, good, you're awake," a voice said to him.

He opened his eyes to find a helm in the likeness of a dragon's face hovering beside him. He yelped a bit and jumped back, only to groan and feel the world spin beneath him. The Cyrinic felt hands that were covered in gauntlets steady him.

"Whoa, there, Rock Boy," the voice said, muffled enough by the mask so that he couldn't tell if it was male or female. "Don't be so skittish, and you won't pass out again." The voice had a strange accent to it, with sort of an exotic flair.

"Who are you?" Bevier asked. His vision cleared and the world stopped spinning.

The armoured person sat back a bit, but did not remove their helm. "A simple dragon knight, trying to make their way in the world. Who are you?"

The young Arcian pursed his lips a bit at their avoidance of his question, but he decided not to press the issue. He wasn't really in a position to ask questions. For all he knew, this person was keeping him captive, and could have sent those brigands upon his friends and himself. Well, let them lie all they want. Bevier was a true and honest person, and he would not lie. That part of his past was just that: his past.

"I am Sir Bevier, the Cyrinic Champion," he said, quite proudly.

"The Cyrinic Champion, hmm?" The voice sounded a bit confused, and the dragon helm cocked a bit to the side. "I've never heard of them."

Bevier was a bit surprised. "Oh, well, it's an order of Church Knights—

"Church Knights?" The tone of the voice was heated this time. "You're a Church Knight?"

"Why, yes, what's wrong with that?" Bevier was baffled by the reaction.

"They aren't anything more than pompous asses dressed in useless armour! They are of no purpose to anyone!"

It was Bevier's turn to get angry. "How dare you speak such slander against us! We've saved the world any number of times over countless centuries, and this is what you think of us?"

"What? Church Knights have never saved the world! They're only used for show and to round up more converts to that blasted Lanokan faith!"

Bevier did a double take. "Lanokan?" he queried.

"Yes, Lanokan! If you're a Church Knight, you know exactly what I'm talking about, you ostentatious ass!"

The Cyrinic felt his cheeks grow hot. "I serve the Elene god, not some blasphemous Styric god!"

"Styric? What are you talking about? That rock hit you harder than I thought," the voice replied.

Bevier stared at his captor a moment. "You aren't from around here, are you?"

"I just flew in from Kran'ahkan, so no, I'm not from around here."

"From where?"

"Don't tell me you haven't heard of Kran'ahkan! Have you never been to the Games?"

Bevier shook his head. "I think you are a long way from where you intended to be," he said gravely.

"What…" The voice trailed off, and the speaker seemed to think about this for a moment. "What are you saying, exactly?"

"I think you're on a different world," the Arcian replied.

"You mean… This isn't… Miomir?" the voice asked hesitantly.

The champion shook his head. "No, it isn't. You're in Eosia."

The armoured captor sat down on the ground, evidently struck speechless. After a few minutes, they asked, albeit suspiciously, "If I'm from a different world, then how do you and I speak the same language?"

Bevier shrugged. " I really can't tell you."

_I can._ There was that voice again. The Cyrinic's eyes flickered over to the dragon, which had been so silent Bevier had forgotten about it. _We dragons can speak every language. It is a trait of ours, and any that have dragon blood in their veins, though even I did not know it extended to worlds beyond our own._

"That doesn't explain how I can—"

_You share some blood with me. Remember when you were attacked by that wayward minatan, and I healed you_? The dragon knight nodded. _We shared blood then. I had to give you some, since you had lost so much_.

"Oh."

"Now that we've established that, I believe some names are in order," Bevier said sternly.

The dragon knight looked back at the Cyrinic. "Pardon me, Rock Boy." The gauntleted hands lifted and removed the helm, revealing a smooth, ivory-toned face, surrounded by purplish-black hair, curling and framing the face attractively.

Bevier gasped a bit. The dragon knight was a woman. Her eyes were the deepest purple he had ever seen, set like amethysts in her alabaster face, and they tilted up the slightest bit. Her cheekbones were high and delicately defined and strong at the same time. Her lips were full, the colour of a rose in bloom, and curving up in a wry smile.

"Name's Valmai Morgann," she said to the still shocked Bevier. "That dragon's Nightflash." Leaning toward Bevier a bit, she said, "Hey, Rock Boy, don't pass out again. You looked like you've seen a ghost or something."

"But… you're a woman!"

"I see you've noticed," Valmai said sardonically, sitting back. "What's your point?"

"Women can't be knights! There's too much danger!"

The foreign woman laughed, the sound very musical and rich. "Maybe on your world, Sir Rock Boy, but on mine, it's nearly common practice." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder to Nightflash. "With companions like that, would you go against me?"

Bevier, having recovered a bit from his initial shock, glanced over at the dragon. As if on cue, the beast grinned ominously at him, baring a full set of deadly teeth. The Arcian nodded, seeing the sense in this.

"I suppose you have a point there." He learned to deal with the Atana rather quickly, so he should have minimal trouble dealing with this woman knight. He sighed. Despite his best efforts, however, it would take quite some time getting used to.

Valmai grinned reaching over her right shoulder to draw her well-worn sword. Bevier could tell at a glance—even in the dim light of the campfire; the sun had set by now—that she wasn't lying about being a knight. The sword she handled with apparent skill was most assuredly a knight's sword, and it looked as if had seen many battles. The woman knight grinned easily and ran a finger encased in steel along the blade.

"Eärorfilas and I have been through a lot," she said fondly.

"Eärorfilas?" Bevier asked. Was she… talking about her sword?

"Oh, aye. He's my sword here. We've seen many a-battle, haven't we?" Valmai asked her sword, stroking it lovingly.

"You named your sword?'

The dragon knight shot him a sharp look. "Yes, of course. It is customary among my people. No one else will be so close to you as your sword or your dragon," she replied angrily.

Bevier shook his head. "Forgive me, I did not know." Her expression softened a bit.

"No, I'm sorry. I forgot that I was on a different world." Her face scrunched a bit, and she twisted her slim torso to look back at Nightflash. "How did we get here, anyway?"

His burgundy shoulders, blackened by the inky night, lifted in a dragonish sort of shrug. "I couldn't tell you."

"You were flying! Didn't you notice a change in scenery?" She turned to him fully now, as if forgetting about Bevier entirely. It gave him a moment to look about the camp more.

He spotted his Lochaber by the fire, and crawled forward to get it, only to have his hand grabbed by Valmai's. She wasn't even looking at him; she was still talking with her dragon. He grunted and grabbed the axe with his other hand, then pulled the one she had hold of free, causing the woman to look at him, startled.

She blushed a bit, and drew her hand to her body. "Sorry; warrior's instinct," she apologised.

He nodded. "It's all right."

Valmai watched as he scrutinised the edge of his blade, and made a little noise, pulling out special implements to sharpen it.

"That's a nasty-looking axe you've got there," she noted after a while. He nodded and made a noncommittal noise. "Bet you've done quite the bit of damage with it," she continued. "I've never seen anything like it before. What's it called?"

Bevier looked up from his axe. "It's called a Lochaber axe, and yes, I've done a certain amount of damage with it." He put the sharpening tools away and attempted to get to his feet.

Of course, he was still very unsteady, and didn't quite handle the vertical concept yet, and very nearly fell down. He would have, if Valmai hadn't leapt up and caught him. Though she was strong, Bevier doubted she could have caught him if he had been in full armour. Then again, he probably wouldn't be in this situation had he been in full armour. He leaned upon her shoulder, not really wanting to, but having no other visible option other than to do so as she walked him closer to the fire.

"It doesn't look like you'll be going anywhere for a little while," Valmai noted.

"Are you keeping me captive?"

She laughed again, and as much as Bevier told himself that he wouldn't allow himself to trust this stranger too much, he found himself not being able to do anything but like the sound of her laugh. It was so musical.

"No, I'm not. What would I have to gain from it? I know nothing of who you know, or who's important in your world, or even what sort of reward to ask for you." She grinned crookedly at him. It was a fetching grin. "But if you feel like leaving, then, by all means, be my guest to walk out of here. If nothing else, it will provide us with some entertainment." She patted his shoulder and pushed him gently but firmly back into a sitting position, then checked a piece of meat cooking over the fire on a spit. "You don't seem to have that vertical thing quite figured out yet."

Bevier couldn't help but smile at that, and it didn't look like he had much of a choice at the moment. He was incapacitated, and this woman knight wasn't the worst of company he had been in, and she didn't seem to be planning against him, so he didn't think he was in any sort of real danger. And besides, he was still continuing with Lord Abriel's order; this was more than likely one of the knights the Pelosians had seen, and he probably would gain more information by staying in her camp than by riding all over Pelosia looking for another dragon knight, if, indeed, there were others like her. So he settled back and listened to Valmai's enthusiastic storytelling—she had as much passion for the pastime as Tynian did—and ate the food she offered him with genuine interest, all the while keeping the information stored in the more dutiful part of his memory for Lord Abriel's report.

**---------------------------**

"You're not very quiet, are you?" Ulath asked Kalten as he watched the Pandion hack at a particularly resilient bush in their way.

"I don't have to be, so I'm not," the big Pandion replied. Ulath shook his head.

"For all we know, Bevier could be captive to some lunatic somewhere, and you're announcing our position to him. Might as well shout, 'Here we are! Kill our friend before we find you!' to him."

"You're very cynical, Ulath."

"I believe that's the word they use, yes."

The two knights made their slow, indiscreet way through the forest, calling for their lost friend. Bevier's trail following the brigands wasn't too hard to follow, so they did just that. After quite some time walking, Kalten noted:

"He sure did chase them down for a while, didn't he?"

"What, are you getting tired?" Ulath glanced over at his Pandion brother. "You're getting fat, Kalten."

Kalten's face reddened a bit. "I'm not! Just because I eat a lot, it doesn't mean that I'm fat! I need a lot of food to keep going!"

Ulath laughed loudly and pounded Kalten on the back. "I was only kidding," he told the Pandion. "Don't take everything so seriously. You've been really touchy recently. Haven't you had some nice entertainment lately?"

Kalten shook his head. "No, that's not it." He paused, serious for a moment. "I have had this strange feeling as of late, though…"

"Maybe it's your conscious."

"Don't be silly. You know I don't have one of those."

"Ah, yes. How could I forget? But what's this feeling, then?" Ulath pushed aside a few saplings to walk by them, but just happened to let go as Kalten was starting to walk through them.

Giving off a vulgar oath, Kalten shoved his way beyond the saplings. "You had to do that, didn't you?"

"Do what?" Ulath said innocently, his blue eyes wide.

Kalten grumbled something under his breath that the Genidian didn't quite catch. Then he continued, ignoring Ulath for the moment.

"I'm not too sure what it is," he said.

"It is anything like the Troll Gods, or Bhelliom?" Ulath inquired. The Pandion shook his head.

"No, it's from nothing substantial. It's more of a gut feeling."

"Like something bad is going to happen? Or that something's going to go awry?"

"You think more than you look like you do, Ulath," the big Pandion told him. The Genidian shrugged.

"Like I've said before, there isn't much to do in Thalesia while it's snowing. Thinking and meditating suddenly become interesting pastimes if you don't like to watch the snow fall."

Kalten shook his head, then stopped and cocked his head to the side. "Do you hear that?"

Ulath fell silent and listened a moment. "Sounds like a waterfall."

The Pandion nodded. "When in doubt, head for water," he said sagely.

"Where did you hear that?" Ulath wanted to know as they headed toward the sound.

Kalten shrugged. "I just made it up."

"That explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Never mind."

The two knights stopped just short of the waterfall clearing and drew their ready weapons, "just in case", as Kalten's explanation went. Ulath didn't exactly disagree. Moving silently as their chain mail would allow, Ulath and Kalten crept to the waterfall, expecting to find the brigands holding a tortured and unconscious Bevier hostage. They burst through the leaves with a fearsome war cry only to be looked at indifferently—and perhaps a tad annoyed—by Caedryn, who had been happily munching on the sweet grass of the pool's bank before their vociferous appearance. They stared right back at the stallion, aghast.

"Well, at least we found his horse," Ulath said, slipping his axe into its holder.

Kalten sheathed his sword sheepishly. "Boy do I feel dumb," he announced. Ulath shot him a look.

"Only just now?" The Genidian held up a hand to silence Kalten's protest. "Never mind. Maybe we can get Bevier's horse to take us to him."

"A horse?"

"Why, yes, that's what I said. Some of them are dumb, but there are a few that possess a few shreds on intelligence, and I think that Bevier's is one of the latter." The Thalesian walked over to Caedryn and gently stroked the velvety muzzle. "Where's Bevier, hmm? Have you seen him lately? Do you know where he is?"

Caedryn shook his head and finished chewing the current pieces of grass he had in his mouth. Pawing the ground a bit, he whickered, shaking his head again. Blinking, he regarded the massive man before him, then lowered his large green eyes, as if to tell the man he didn't know.

Ulath sighed a bit and looked back at Kalten. "He doesn't know." The Pandion made a face.

"That's what you get for asking a horse," he told Ulath. The horse flicked his tail irritably and snorted. Ulath grinned

"This is Bevier's horse, Kalten. I'm not sure you want to get into any sort of argument with him. You'd look funny with hoof prints on your face."

Kalten chose to ignore that. He was busy trying to puzzle out the whereabouts of either Bevier or the brigands. Both seemed to have dropped out of sight. "The trail led here, though, didn't it?"

"No, it didn't." The Pandion gave Ulath a quizzical look. "We were following the path until you decided you wanted to go chase a waterfall."

"That's right. How could I have forgotten?"

"You were busy trying to get a hoof tattooed on you somewhere." Kalten ignored that, too. Caedryn nickered, the sound remarkably resembling a laugh.

"Logic dictates that we should get back to the path then, doesn't it?"

"It does."

"Then shouldn't we be heading back?"

"We should." Ulath took Caedryn's looks reigns and led him back to the path of crushed and broken foliage they had been following for the better part of the day.

"So we're assuming that Bevier chased after the brigands," Kalten said once they were back on the trail.

"You're attempting at logic, aren't you?"

"Just be quiet and listen. Bevier hunted down the brigands, let's say, and killed them. Or maybe he didn't. Let's run with the idea that he didn't have the chance to kill them all for a while and see where it leads us. He wasn't wearing any armour, but that shouldn't have been that much of a disadvantage. He's a skilled enough warrior for that. And a bunch of half-trained brigands could never be a match for his skill—add on to that his fervour and the way battle always seems to get the better of him, not to mention that axe of his, and you're talking about the imminent doom of some unlucky brigands."

"Right," Ulath conceded. "So why hasn't he come back yet?"

"He could either be still dashing after the rest of the brigands, or he could be captured by them."

"I don't think that they were so fast as to outrun Bevier—even if he was on foot. Which leads to another flaw in that first theory: why would Bevier run down anyone without his horse?"

"So the second one is more likely."

"Of those two, yes. But there could be some unseen component that alters your entire logic." Ulath paused a moment to look over Caedryn. "His horse doesn't seem to be hurt in any way, so he might have been knocked off somehow."

"Maybe," Kalten said and fell quiet, thinking a bit more. "Where's Sparhawk when you need some good, thorough logic?" he muttered.

"You're not doing all _that_ badly trying to copy him. You're technique needs more work though."

"I'm glad you approve," the Pandion said dryly. "But would Bevier allow himself to be taken off his horse?"

"If that's the case, then he was probably knocked off. Maybe someone hit him in the head." Ulath shrugged.

"And dented that thick skull of his? Unlikely."

"Maybe not dented, but perhaps they rattled him enough to knock him out."

Kalten's voice grew glum. "And if that happened, they might be halfway to Cammoria right now, for all we know."

"That might be a bit tough to accomplish in a day," the Genidian remarked.

"So I exaggerated." Kalten dismissed his comment with a wave of his hand. Then he sighed. "It seems all we can do at this point is to speculate."

"And follow the path," Ulath pointed out. "Besides, the bulk of most logic is speculative anyway. Yours is just more so because one, you don't have very much to work off of, and two, you were never that good at it anyway."

"Gee," Kalten said sardonically, "you're such an encouragement to my self-esteem."

"Always glad to help, Kalten." Ulath grinned at him.


	5. Chapter Five

**A/N:** Ah, how I adore all of thy reviews. Keep them coming! Please! They mean a lot to me—and all writers… but me especially, because… well… because! ;; I really don't have anything more to write here. So… yeah. On to Chapter Six! dance of chapter six Oh, and SweetLee, yeah, everyone—meaning… Ulath—picks on Kalten's lack of brains… but we all know that he actually does have some… and Ulath's only doing it because, well… he's Ulath. Speak of the devil, I think I may have another pairing here. Since when did this become a romance story? blinks Ah, well… I'll add in some tactical stuff… but of what? Well, you'll just have to read on and see, won't you? cackles

Sorry about the delay, everyone. I got stuck on the fluff between Elledra, Ulath, and Kalten, and I also got bogged down in the new language, because I wanted to keep it consistent. Loser stuff like that. I can't help it; I have fun making up languages. Anywho… It's finally done. So no more hate mail, threatening to hunt me down and throw me in a room with locked doors and windows and not giving my food or water until I'm done with this chapter. ;;; Okay, so no one really did that, but I got yelled at. So, here it is. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything that belongs to Eddings… which… makes sense. scratches head But hey, it works. Oh, and Nightflash, Valmai, Caedryn, Tsaran, Bevier's mother, and anyone else that decides to make an appearance in my story belongs to me—unless said otherwise.

**---------------------------**

**Chapter Five**

Ulath kicked the big man lying at his feet.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," Ulath told him.

The big man grunted and rolled over, his blonde hair falling from his sleeping face. Ulath kicked him again, and the prostrate man opened his blue eyes and growled at the Thalesian. Ulath grinned.

"Ready for another day of searching?"

"Rrrrrrr," Kalten said inhospitably.

"You're cheery this morning," Ulath noted, pointing to their fire, which had a spit holding a pot over top, "and I even cooked you breakfast."

"Breakfast?" The big Pandion sat up, bright-eyed.

"Yup. It's leftovers."

Kalten groaned. "I didn't think that stuff you tried to feed me last night could get any worse."

"Oh, shut your mouth. I cooked some deer into my stew. I deliberately made it bad last night. I'm not as bad a cook as you," the Genidian replied indignantly.

"I'm _not_ that bad a cook!"

"And ogres are fairy tales," Ulath said, scooping some of the stew out for himself and Kalten.

"What's got you in such a good mood? Just yesterday morning you were ready to rip Bevier and me to shreds just because you woke up." Kalten looked down at the stew—which he had to admit didn't look too bad.

The Thalesian shrugged. "I happen to like morning watches." He neglected to mention the fact that he had seen something strange—yet undeniably welcome—in those early morning hours.

While Ulath's big companion had been sleeping not three hours ago, the Thalesian had heard the light laughter of young women not far from their camp. It sounded as if there were two of three, but he would never know for sure unless he went and looked, now would he? And so, look he did. What he found were three young women with delicate, fae-like features. They were perched among the trees, dressed in what looked like little dresses that were made of leaves that left their slim shoulders bare. Two of them had brown hair that spilled over their shoulders and slowly blended into what could only be described as a healthy green. Their eyes were almond-shaped and variations of hazel. One, however, stood out in Ulath's mind. The particular woman that had caught his attention had luminous azure eyes and wore a dress of rust-coloured leaves, contrasting sharply with the green of her hair. Her hair, unlike the other two, was fully green—and very vibrant.

He had watched them talk in a strange, musically wispy sort of language for perhaps twenty minutes when something started crashing about behind him. A young arrogant buck had been chased away by a larger male in the age-old fight to see who got to mate with which doe, and the self-important deer was a bit angered by his loss. When Ulath looked back to where the women had been, they were gone. He decided that the buck and he were overdue for a nice, long chat. He paused a moment at their camp to pick up his axe, then stalked after the unsuspecting buck.

Kalten shovelled the stew into his mouth, and Ulath shook his head, then delved into his own portion, both too busy to talk much.

Bevier's horse lowered his head and tore off some grass. The knights' eyes were drawn over to the riderless horse. Kalten looked as if he were about to say something, but Ulath cut in before the Pandion had a chance.

"I saw something strange this morning," the Genidian said.

Kalten looked at him. "Oh?"

"There were some women in the woods today."

"That's not strange, that's good news!" Kalten's face brightened again.

Ulath shook his head. "I thought so too, but they weren't normal-looking women."

"What, did they have horns, green hair, and tails?"

"Close." Kalten stared at him. "The ends of their hair were green." He paused a moment to reflect on his earlier viewing. "Though one's hair was entirely green." Ulath cast his Pandion brother a look. "Stop staring at me like that; you're eyes will fall out."

"Did they _actually_ have green hair?"

"No, I'm lying to you." Ulath rolled his eyes skyward. "Yes, they actually had green hair—at least, at the tips."

"Are you sure you weren't dreaming?"

"The deer," Ulath grunted.

Kalten blinked. "Pardon?"

"A haughty young buck disturbed me when I was watching them. We had a talk about it." The Genidian pointedly skewered a piece of meat in his bowl and ate it.

"So quickly?" Kalten asked dubiously, looking down at the stew.

Ulath shrugged. "We had a disagreement in our talk."

"Did you?"

"He thought that he should continue living for some reason. I convinced him otherwise."

"What happened to the rest of the deer?"

"I left it as a gift for the wolves."

"You're so generous."

"I try," the massive Thalesian said with a casual shrug.

**---------------------------**

Elledra hated them. Not because of who they were, or what they did, but _how_ they were. She inwardly sighed and put on another fake smile. It didn't take much to keep them amused, and until she found out where in the name of the Goddess Tree they were, Elledra would just have to keep Sh'nedra and Messedra As appealing as it sounded to her, Elledra couldn't just let them wander free on whatever world they were on. Someone might see them.

"Sirinico mijalai tyalla," Messedra was saying. _The trees feel so strange._

"Myca's morou," Sh'nedra replied. _I wonder why?_

Elledra opted not to tell them about their sudden relocation. It had all happened so suddenly. She let her mind drift from the idle, mindless chatter that the other two were spouting and rethought recent past events.

_Seor had just marked its seventeenth hour, and a deadly calm had settled over the entire forest. It was late autumn, so the sun was methodically nearing the northern horizon, sinking slowly under the mountains. The calm soon fell into a silence, though it was one that no one really welcomed. It was oppressive, and even the idle chatter of the forest animals stopped. Aryuna, her tree, brought this to her attention, and Elledra had crept slowly from the safety of the trunk and looked about. She felt a certain responsibility to this forest; the current Guardian was aging, and though none of them liked to admit it, she would pass on soon. Knowing this, the Guardian had chosen Elledra to be her successor._

_And so, it worried her slightly when everything living in the forest stopped. Not stopped as in stopped to smell the flowers (or your neighbour), but just… stopped. The wind had even seemed to freeze in place._

"_Myca's saruu nep taenik," she murmured softly, her voice sounding loud in the deadly silence. I wonder what has happened._

_Aryuna rustled an almost inaudible reply to her, the tree's leaves flashing crimson in the setting sun's light. At any other time, if Elledra had noticed the colour, she would have thought nothing of it, but now, with an ominous feeling tingling at the back recess of her mind, the colour looked all too much like blood to her. Her azure eyes narrowed a bit, but before she had time to do anything, her pointed ears picked up a distant sound. It sounded like drums. Turning her attention away from Aryuna, she walked to the edge of the stout branch she perched on to peer out into the forest. The sounds weren't coming from within, however, so she climbed swiftly and silently up the tree until she had a clear view of the forest canopy and the lands beyond her small world. Her eyes widened at the horror they beheld._

_The sky to the northwest was aflame with the crimson scales of so many red dragons—Baladrierans. It wasn't just the dragons, however; Elledra could plainly see long, vicious lances protruding upward into the heavens from each of the dragons, and a few banners, with a strange insignia on them, were streaming behind those designated as flag-bearers. It was a winged army, and it was heading straight for her forest. Panic gripped and twisted her stomach, for, even as powerful as a whole host of dryads could be if they set their minds to it, they could never stand against such a coalition of Baladrierans. Especially since they were all working together—a small wonder in of itself—and since it was obvious someone was in league with them. As her emerald hair was whipped about wildly as the wind created from the legion—for, indeed, it was an entire legion, perhaps even more—of leathery wings bearing down upon her, Elledra's mind raced to try and think what any Baladrieran would want from conquering her insignificant forest. Perhaps they were going to fly overtop—yes, that was it. The Baladrierans were heading southeast past her forest to wage war on the Calithans—the blue dragons. The Calithans and the Baladrierans hated each other, and were always finding some way or another to rip each other to shreds. That was it. The red dragons didn't have any concern for her forest, other than perhaps to feed on some of the larger deer in it. Yet she couldn't help but feel she was making excuses and refusing to see it for what it really was: scorched earth warfare. Aryuna shuddered as the thought registered in Elledra's mind. As the dryad looked on, the force of dragons paused momentarily, then a red of a particularly bloody colour soared in front from near the back somewhere and hovered for what seemed an eternity, just surveying the forest. The rider, clad in black and red armour, with a dragon's head helm, motioned for two others to join him after some time of observance. The three exchanged words, then the two twisted back and called out orders to the rest of the legion. Large portions of it broke off and flew over the forest, but a small regiment, what was known as a wing in sky warfare, stayed behind with the armoured rider who had flown to the front moments before._

_The rider, who seemed to be a leader of sorts, conferred with the wing a moment, and she thought she saw the armoured hand point to her, but she must have been imagining things. The red dragon turned itself about to face the quiet forest. Dragonfear swept over them like waves rushing to submerge everything in its path. Elledra had never experienced this sort of fear before, and nothing else in the forest had. They would have been in hysterics, if they had not been rendered immobile by the dragonfear. The bloody-scaled Baladrieran grinned toothily, and needed no urging from its rider to bear down on the forest as if with a vengeance. Elledra managed to let loose a piteous squeak and tore herself away from the impending doom before her to rush back into her tree. She collapsed on the floor and hugged herself, tears streaming down her cheeks. They were all going to die, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. All around her, she heard the screams of her dying forest: the trees as they were ripped to shreds or burned away with merciless flames, the animals, still unable to move, crying out with their minds, their souls, their very existences in pain as they were slaughtered. She heard and felt the deaths of so many of her sisters, weeping, trying to protect their trees and their lives until the very end._

_And then everything stopped._

_All at once, there were no more screams. No more deaths. Everything was silent. Opening her eyes and uncovering her ears, she listened. All she could hear were the fading sounds of leathery wings slicing through the air. And one other thing. No, three other things. The soft sobbing of her tree sisters from their rooms below her, and the faint but steady beating of wings… right… outside… Slowly Elledra got shakily to her feet, leaning heavily against Aryuna's trunk, and walked over to where she had stood before the massacre. She hesitated a long moment before she exited, listening to the still remaining wingbeats. Deciding that she didn't really have anything else to live for—other than Aryuna, of course, and her tree sisters—she left the relative safety of the trunk to walk out on that branch once more._

_The bloody-scaled dragon was hovering very close to the branch, its gold-embezzled underbelly facing her. Its rider, the red and black armoured one, was resting a hand almost nonchalantly on the thin shaft of his dragonlance, waiting for her, it seemed._

"_Ne'debina j'ynaris setijég myco'l tyalla pequa debian," the rider, a man, said in flawless dryadian _I see you have finally left the safety of your tree.

"_Saruu nagam debino kes?" she asked warily. _What do you want?

"_Debino'na sepoht cuma inichi emni'tich, " he replied calmly instead. _You were watching us before we attacked.

"_Myco'san inu sepoht. Jy saruu'th?" she snapped, her emotions getting the better of her, no matter that this dragonrider had just slaughtered all she had ever known and loved. _Yes, I was watching. What of it?

"_Estuma kesra debino'tira ent emni dwara, Mytyall." His voice seemed to smirk at her. _You didn't do anything to stop us, Guardian.

"_Myco kes poto saruu denistuuth jy'syara eliné yallat nama looch rho kek?" she answered bitterly, the tears threatening to come back. _What could I do to prevent a wing of dragons bent on destroying my home?

"_Roat debino'tira ent seme ynej," he said coldly, then asked, "Debino kes morou kho myco debino'tya pask?" _Yet you didn't even try. Do you know why I let you live?

"_Ke'th cosko?" _Does it matter?

_He ignored that. "Debino'toht jy'saruu toulisk xet etam taenik nep turin," he ordered, quite obviously used to being in command. There was something about his voice and his mannerisms that suggested he was a born leader._ You will travel and tell people of what has happened here.

"_Moto morou ne'debino kesra té esha?" she inquired, suspicious. _Why would you have me do that?

"_Ete'th l'kruu thif raet nehmu pa pask debino'n xet debino tecol debian reet doah jy'nep modino xi'th debian ent'pask quith," he replied simply, then touched the dragon's great neck lightly, almost with affection, and they flew off to follow their wing. _It's easier to conquer the world if people know you're coming and give you their land instead of having to wrest it from their unknowing grasps.

_She watched him go, baffled. He was going to conquer the world? Was he mad? And yet, Elledra had to admit that he emitted an aura that dictated authority, though she wasn't sure if it was a good kind or not. She suspected not. She must go and warn people—not for the reasons he had in mind, but to allow them to gather their forces and counterattack this madman's ambitions. Elledra ran back inside and rushed down the trunk to her tree sisters' rooms to tell them of their duty, but just as she went to open their doors, a searing kind of shock ripped through her slender frame, and she cried out. Her sisters ran out of their rooms and wailed, holding her. Then she blacked out._

_And had awoken on this strange new world. Her tree sisters, never the brightest, hadn't noticed the change, but Elledra had almost right away. They hadn't seen the destruction, she reminded herself. They went out into the new forest, and her tree sisters, quite unaware, were their usual mindless, carefree selves, laughing and joking about everything._

The dryad closed her eyes and massaged her temples. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out how exactly they had arrived here, nor could she even begin to guess at the reasons why. Letting out an exasperated sigh, she glared at her sisters, and was about to say something when a crashing interrupted her before a sound had escaped.

"Leka turin," she ordered her tree sisters. _Stay here._

Elledra slipped through the forest with almost the same assurance she would have had she been in her own. The dryad soon came upon two mounted humans, leading a riderless horse behind them. They were plodding through the forest with no regard of how much noise they were making at all. She rolled her eyes. Humans were notorious for that on her world, and she could plainly see that they were basically the same anywhere, even another planet. Yet, they were different then the humans she had seen before--then again, she hadn't seen that many humans since she never left her forest. They were both wearing chain mail and were both large and blond, though one wore his hair in braids. Furrowing her brow a bit, she watched the one with braids for a moment longer, moving ahead of them quickly, staying up in the trees. They seemed to be arguing back and forth; she couldn't understand what they were saying, but she heard their tone and understood that well enough. Abruptly, the one with braids stopped talking and looked up into the trees, scanning them. Elledra froze. She was more than fairly sure that she hadn't made any noise as she was following them, but still, one could never be too sure. The man's blue eyes narrowed, and paused where she was, but then moved on. The dryad let out a sigh of relief—too soon. Without any warning at all, the branch that she was on snapped and she plummeted to the ground with a cry. The humans reigned in their horses and kept the animals still; Elledra had fallen right beside them, and horses don't take too kindly to surprises.

The two humans exchanged glances, and the braided one dismounted and slowly walked over to her, obviously wary, his guard up. He said something in a strange language to her, and she stared at him, wide-eyed. Sighing a bit, the man rolled his eyes skyward and said some more words in a harsh tongue. To her surprise, the sky talked back to him. She stared even more. What a strange world this was.

Quite unexpectedly, a large, glowing figure appeared on the ground beside the braided man, and scrutinised her for a moment. It made guttural noises and pointed at her, looking back at the blonde man. He nodded, and said something else to the glowing figure. The other blonde man just stared at her as if he had never seen anything like her in his life. He didn't seem to understand what the braided man and the glowing figure were talking about.

"Can you understand me?" she heard a definitely male voice ask her.

Her azure eyes locked on the man with the braids. "What?" she found herself asking, though she knew that he couldn't understand her. Or, at least, that's what she thought.

To her amazement, he smiled, then spoke a few moments more with the glowing figure, which made frightening motions at her and said some more words. Then it vanished. Elledra chewed on her lower lip and stared at the spot where the glowing figure had been not moments before, unsure of what to make of the situation.

"Now, since we can all understand one another now, what's your name?"

Elledra turned to look at the men again, her hands held protectively up at her chest. "You can understand me?"

"Yes, we can."

"You speak my language? Why didn't you before? What was that glowing figure? Who are you? Where am I—" The braided man held up his hand to stop her.

"Let me answer the first wave before we go onto a new one, all right?" Elledra nodded.

"First off, no, I don't speak your language. But you can speak mine. The glowing figure was the Troll God of Eat, Gnomb. He taught you Elenish—my language—in about thirty seconds. I'm Ulath, a Genidian knight, and this is Kalten, a Pandion knight. You're in Eosia." He paused. "Did that about cover it?

She stared at him again. "So you're telling me that I just learned an entire language in under a minute?"

"That's about right."

"And that you're a knight?"

"Last time I checked."

"And he is too?" She looked past the one called Ulath at the one called Kalten with a look of doubt. "Neither of you look much like the knights I'm used to."

"We're special like that. And yes, believe it or not, but Kalten really is a knight."

"Hey!" Kalten interjected indignantly, taking a step forward. "I earned my knighthood just as much as you did."

"Vanion must have had a slow week when you were in." Ulath raised his hand. "Let's not argue your credibility right now. We can do that later, over a few kegs of Arcian red." He turned his blue eyes back to Elledra. "Now, I believe it's your turn to answer some of our questions."

"Alright."

"Where are you from?" Kalten inquired.

"I'm from… a forest—" she winced slightly at the words—"just south of the Tiran River on Miomir." It felt strange saying her world's name. It wasn't that it was a bad name—in fact, she thought it was beautiful, and the dryads hadn't even changed it to fit their language—but no one had ever asked her what world she was from.

"What's your name?" Ulath asked her.

"Elledra."

"Why do you have green hair?"

"I'm a dryad."

"A dryad?"

"People who live in forests, and who are connected to their trees. If we die, they die, but if our trees die, we don't die. We can leave them—obviously—but we don't like to."

"How does that dying thing work out?" Kalten asked.

"I'm not sure, actually. We don't really have an explanation for it; we just accept it." She shrugged.

"Are there any others like you here?" Ulath, after a moment's silence, enquired.

Elledra closed her eyes and sighed. She has hoped they weren't going to ask that. "Yes," she replied after a time. "My two tree sisters are with me."

"Don't you like them?"

The dryad looked up sharply. "That's none of your business, Knight Ulath." She hoped it was the one named Ulath. She was still having a bit of trouble telling the two apart, though she was able to see few minor differences. Her azure eyes hardened into dark ice.

He half-grinned. "I'll take that as a no, then."

She was about to make a heated reply when the one named Kalten cleared his throat. "As much as I like to see Ulath fight with someone other than myself, we really should get back to looking for our companion."

"You mean the other one?" Elledra asked. She had seen another man in armour earlier, with a dragon knight—whom she assumed was from Miomir, since the dryad had recognised her class.

"You've seen Bevier?" Kalten asked excitedly.

"I don't know his name, but I saw another man that wore armour like yours with dark hair, and a knight of my world earlier." Elledra shook her head a bit.

"Where were they?"

"In a clearing about two, three hundred yards away from where my tree sisters and I were resting"

"Can you take us to him?"

"I could…" she answered vaguely.

"Then why don't you?" Ulath suggested.

"The dragon knight," was her reply.

Kalten groaned. "Not another one…"

Elledra looked at him questionably. "You've seen another dragon knight?"

"No, you just say a word or two and expect us to know what it means. Ulath does the same thing. Most annoying thing in the world."

"That's just because you can't keep up with my thinking, Kalten. I tend to skip around in my mind, then just blurt out the end result. Process is really boring, actually." Ulath dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand. "But that's not important. What about the dragon knight?"

"They tend to move around a lot, since people generally don't care for them. The whole, 'burning villages' thing turns people off toward dragons and their riders. So I doubt that they would still be where I saw them."

Ulath arched a brow. "Even on a strange world?"

Elledra thought this over. "You may be right, Knight Ulath. But the dragon knight might not know that they're on a different world."

"There's only one way to find out, isn't there?" Ulath said, then nodded to Caedryn. "Need a ride?"

Elledra wrinkled her nose. "No thanks. I'm allergic to horses."

Kalten and Ulath exchanged glances.

"Not severely allergic, but I can't ride them without sneezing constantly. It's the close proximity thing. Besides, I'll be able to find your friend and the dragon knight better from the trees." She flashed them a stunning grin. "You just have to keep up with me."

She started walking through the forest, then swung up onto a low branch and was off. Ulath and Kalten spurred the horses into motion, following her. Kalten snorted.

" 'Keep up', she says. How fast can she get through the trees?"

"Are you guys coming, or what?" Elledra's voice called to them from down the path.

"That fast," was Ulath's answer as he urged his horse into a canter, keeping up with the darting dryad. Kalten merely trailed behind Ulath's big horse, leading Bevier's behind his.

**---------------------------**

_A/N: For all of you who don't know… which would be… virtually all of you, I'm surmising, the references to the other world—Miomir, as Valmai so graciously told us last chapter—are to a world that my friend and I are creating for our book—books, hopefully. So… Seor is a little red moon, I believe, that has an hourly orbit around the world, and when it reaches its zenith, the inhabitants use that as a sort of, uh, moon-dial for the hours. Also, no I didn't make a mistake when I said that the sun was setting on the northern horizon. The sun rises in the south on Miomir… what can I say? It made for an interesting time on where and how to place the equator. v.v;;; I've got a story started that's called Saturnine Relic on and that's set on Miomir. It's one of the funniest things—I think—that I've ever written… and it only has one review. It's very lonely. So… glances to either side go visit it. nod nod _


	6. Chapter Six

A/N: This chapter is mostly fulfilling a request of SweetLee's… she wanted to know more about Bevier's past, and has been bugging me about it for a while. Since I didn't have any ideas for Chapter Seven anyway, I decided that I would be generous and provide some background information about him… sure, it may not be the real background that Mr. Eddings has lying around somewhere—believe me… I know that he has every main character's background written in some detail—but… it works for my story.shrugs And--will Elledra and the boys find Bevier this chapter? Who knows? Read on, and find out!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of David Eddings's characters, though everyone else is mine. Hey! I can say that I own a world now, too! Huzzah, I feel special.

**---------------------------**

**Chapter Six**

Expressions flitted fleetingly across his face as he sank deeper into sleep. Valmai ripped off a piece of cooked meat with her teeth and ate it, watching Bevier sleep. He still wasn't fully recovered from the rock incident, but he would be fine. His brain was just jarred slightly, was all. She glanced at Nightflash, who was idly tapping the tip of his tail on the ground.

"What do you think we should do?" she asked softly.

Nightflash didn't answer for a while. _I don't know,_ he said finally. He closed his luminous eyes. _There's always the Eyes,_ he added very quietly several minutes of silence later.

"How do we know they even exist here? We have no proof," Valmai replied.

The dragon shook his head. _They exist everywhere._

The dragon knight's brows went up. "Alright. Say they exist here. How do we find them? Can you sense them?"

_Not when they are in the boxes, no._

Valmai threw the rest of her meat into the fire and watched it crackle and blacken. "Then how would they help us if we can't even find them?"

_I can smell the metals._

Valmai stared at him. "Oh."

**---------------------------**

A small child of perhaps four or five clung to his mother, his olive-hued face buried in her chest. His mother hurried out the door, a thick beam of wood engulfed in flame falling behind her. Clutching her child closer, she ran faster, ignoring the screams behind her. What she wouldn't give to have saved them—her family, her servants… her beloved husband. But she had him to think about, and maternal instincts took control of her entire being, allowing no room for anything else. She knew that she, badly burned by the fire, was not long for this world, but she had to get him so safety. That came above everything else—even her own life.

That's what it cost her.

She was about halfway down a country road when, twisting her ankle sharply and suddenly in a small ditch, she fell. Turning her body around, she managed to land hard on her back, saving her child from being crushed. Her long, blue-black hair served as a sort of rudimentary pillow for her aching, burned head. She felt blood trickle down one side of her face, but she made cooing noises to comfort and soothe her son. Through the entire ordeal, he hadn't cried or even whimpered.

"So strong," she breathed to him, a faint smile touching her paling lips. "Just like… your father…"

He watched her with wide eyes, as if he knew she would be leaving him soon.

"You must always be strong, love… and you mustn't worry… about me. You… you'll be taken care of… my darling… my dear, dear… Bevier…"

His name was her last dying breath as her dark eyes closed for the final time. Bevier watched his mother slip silently into the deep sleep of death ((Hamlet! x.x;; )), and it was then, witnessing the first death of his life, that he felt tears sting his wide eyes.

That was how they found him: crying silently by the side of the road, clinging to a dead woman who, for all her horrible burns, looked as if she went in peace. She would rest in her grave with the firm belief that her son would be safe, and taken care of.

A cowled man gently picked the crying child up, and spoke soft words of comfort to him, even as a few of the other robed men picked up the dead woman and wrapped her in a spare cloak. The small group of monks then continued on their way.

**---------------------------**

"There's forty-two of them, right?"

The burgundy dragon nodded his head. _Yes. One metal for each sentient race on Miomir._

"Why does each race have to be represented?"

That made Nightflash pause. _I suppose it's so that the Eyes can't gain control of any particular race while still in their boxes,_ he replied.

"But, if they're everywhere, wouldn't they need more than forty-two metals to be controlled?"

_Perhaps, but they are of our world, so maybe the forty two are enough._ He sounded doubtful, despite his words.

Valmai fell silent for a while again, her gaze drifting back over to Bevier.

"Can you smell them now?"

Nightflash cocked his head to the side some. _I can smell the types of metal in the world, but they aren't in one place,_ he answered.

"Can they all travel to different worlds?"

_I don't know._

**---------------------------**

He was twelve, and full of mischief. Then again, all boys around that age are full of mischief. He seemed to have more, however, and he was constantly finding himself in trouble. The orphans of the monastery were punished by being given a multitude of chores to complete. Bevier used to be sent to the kitchens, but after seeing a rapid decrease in their food, the cooks complained, and Bevier no longer went to the kitchens. He was sent to the parapets that encircled the stone monastery to stand watch—when he wasn't scrubbing the walkway or fixing broken walls and the like. It was a solitary job, but he didn't mind it; he was busy thinking of a way to escape. It wasn't that the monks mistreated him, but he didn't want to stay. He didn't like being cooped up inside when his soul yearned for the road. He wasn't allowed to go outside very often anymore, since whenever they permitted him and some others to leave the monastery walls for whatever reason, Bevier always slipped away and made for the woods. He only managed to escape once, however, and the monks sent a few of their brethren—of whom Bevier was dubious of their positions as monks—to get him back. He was scrubbing the parapets in a matter of hours.

That little incident had been four years ago. Now, as the sun hung low in the sky, Bevier's quick mind devised a plan of escape. After their evening meal, the monks retreated to their cells for private evening prayers. After that, they gathered in the chapel. Of course, that was nearly three hours later. Those three hours when no one paced the halls was his time to escape. It was a wonder he hadn't thought of it before. By the time they noticed he was gone, he would be too far away for any of the brothers to find him.

His plan went without a hitch. He finished his chores just in time to join the monks for evening dinner. Of what he did eat, he ate in silence. If he had been older and more experienced, he would have eaten more, for he didn't know how long the food he had stolen from the kitchen would last him. But, at twelve, he wasn't experienced enough in the ways of the world to know that, nor could he calm his mind enough to think to eat. For once, even prayers couldn't come fast enough for him.

Excusing himself early from dinner—claiming he needed to get to his prayers—Bevier nearly ran to his cell, knocking an older monk over in the hall.

"Slow down, Bevier. Think of where you go before you run. You never know what—or who—might run into," Larr, the monk Bevier was currently helping up, said. Then he added, with a chuckle, "Literally."

"I'm sorry, Brother Larr," the boy replied. "I was in a hurry."

"I noticed," Larr responded, brushing his robe a bit. Then he eyed Bevier critically. "In a hurry to evening prayers? Of all the years I've known you, I've never seen you this excited to pray."

Bevier, subject to his emotions as usual, flushed and looked at the ground. "Today… today is a day for change," he said meekly, hoping the brother would accept his vague answer.

Larr nodded sagely, and seemed to acquiesce to Bevier's excuse. In truth, he knew that the boy had an ulterior motive. "Yes, yes. The time for change is now. Don't forget that, Bevier. We all are a part of God's plan, and, like it or not, we are subject to His divine will." His voice dropped and he took a stop closer to the boy. "I know you were not meant to stay in this monastery. You are destined for greater things. Don't pass the chance to fulfil your destiny as mere folly. God has plans for you, Bevier; I know it. Just remember to follow your heart, for it will never lead you astray." His voice seemed longing and wistful, as if he had passed up an opportunity that he regretted not taking.

Bevier nodded. "I will, Brother Larr," he promised sincerely.

"Good, lad. Now, off to evening prayers you go," Larr said, his voice light again.

Bevier smiled and ran off to his cell. He would miss Brother Larr, he decided as he put the last of his belongings in his pack. But that was about all he would miss.

Half an hour later, when everything was quiet enough for Bevier's state of mind, he crept out of his cell, closing the door silently behind him. Heart pounding, he slipped on soft leather boots through the stone corroders, holding his breath every time he went by a cell he knew contained one of the many brothers who lived in the monastery. Soon, he clambered on top of the tall parapets and unravelled a strong hemp rope that, ironically, he had been taught to make by the brothers. Securing it around a large piece of stone jutting out of the top of the rampart and tossing it over the side, Bevier slowly made his way down the outside wall.

Leaving the rope regretfully behind, the young Arcian stole away into the nearby forest, not looking back at the monastery once.

The end of Bevier's rope that was tied to the stone was lifted up and slowly rolled into a neat, tight circle that came from years of practice.

"Godspeed," Brother Larr murmured, watching the small figure of Bevier vanish into the trees.

**---------------------------**

"Did you sense one before we came here?" Valmai asked, uninterestedly poking at the campfire.

Nightflash shook his head. _I don't remember,_ he replied.

"Aren't dragons notorious for their memories?"

_Excuse me?_

"I bet you can tell me everything you ate for a meal over a year ago, how much each piece of it weighed, and probably what its name was. But when we get transported to another world, you don't even remember what happened five bloody minutes before!" She threw some dirt into the flames. "Some notorious memory. It only blocks out the important things."

The burgundy dragon puffed up indignantly. _Food is important. You don't remember anything, either._

"Maybe I was sleeping."

_Maybe I was, too._ Nightflash cocked his head to one side thoughtfully. _Or… maybe our memories were erased._

"How? When? Why? By whom?"

_Those are extremely good questions. None of which I know how to answer._

Valmai sighed. "Wonderful. Just… wonderful."

**---------------------------**

"That's a long enough break for you, you troublemaker. Get back to work!"

"Yessir!" Bevier ran outside and picked up the axe. Swinging the blade back, he neatly cleft the wood stump in two.

This was his third year on the road, and about his twentieth town. Ever since leaving the monastery, Bevier travelled all over Arcium, spending a few days here and there in whatever town he found himself in, working odd jobs for food and a place to stay for as long he was in the town. He was only fifteen, but he had learned a lot since he left the monastery. More, in his opinion, than he would have learned living with the monks. He grunted and continued to chop wood. Sure, it was a lot more strenuous physically, but at least he didn't have to spend half his day praying. As he paused before his next swing, Bevier's sharp ears heard a muffled voice from inside the inn he was currently working at that sounded a bit familiar. Narrowing his eyes a bit, Bevier let the axe in his hand fall slightly as he took a few quiet steps closer so he could hear better.

"… Black hair?"

"… I think so…"

"… Out back?"

"… Wood… should be there…"

Bevier's dark eyes widened and he dropped the axe. The brothers had caught up to him. He would have thought they'd have stopped looking long ago. It had been three years, after all. He ran to the stable and hurried up to the loft above the horses and dove under some straw, dragging his cloth bag of meagre belongings with him. If he had learned any skill in the past three years, it had been to lie completely still when the time called for it. His breathing unconsciously slowed and quieted to be virtually inaudible, but he kept his eyes open, the hay parting just so he could see out of it, though it was a bit obscured. He didn't mind at all; in fact, the more his view was obscured, the less likely his pursuers were able to see him—if they came up here at all.

Soon, he heard the telltale sound of boots over wood, and he bit his lower lip, waiting for them to pass on. Another set followed soon after the first, which, to his dismay, started up the wooden ladder leading up to the loft. His breathing stopped completely as the pair of footsteps reached the loft. Slowly, agonisingly, they walked in front of Bevier's hiding place, then continued past it, paused, turned, then went back down the ladder without stopping again. Still, Bevier didn't let out any sort of sigh of relief; he let out a slow, controlled silent breath. He remained there for about an hour, just to make sure that the two who had come looking for him were good and gone. Warily, he crept out from under the hay and, without bothering to brush himself or his bag off, scurried down the ladder and stole away from the stable as fast as he could. The innkeeper hadn't given him his meal or pay for the day, but he didn't care. He had stolen some bread and cheese from the kitchen that morning before anyone had stirred from their slumber, just in case he had to be on the move again. He had learned early on that it was always an advantageous idea to be prepared to move to a new location the next moment, and that rule had served him well the past three years.

So he ran again. Anywhere was better than his past.

**---------------------------**

Valmai gently shook Bevier awake with one hand, kneeling next to him. He groaned and slowly opened his eyes, starting a little, not remembering where he was for a few moments.

"Whoa, there, Rock Boy," she said softly, holding firmly onto his shoulder when he looked as if he was going to fall back. "It's just me. Here," she added, looking down and lifting up a wooden bowl with steam coming out of it. "Courtesy of Nightflash." She offered him the bowl with a genial smile on her face.

He sat up a bit more and took the bowl, though he gave her a quizzical look while doing so.

"He went and caught us a stag," the dragon knight explained at his look.

"Oh." Bevier took the spoon she offered him as well and ate slowly, his head still pounding. As if reading his thoughts, Valmai cocked her head to the side a bit.

"How's your head?"

He squinted one eye shut and looked up, as if to see his head. "It doesn't hurt quite as much, thank you." Of course he was underplaying it a bit. He didn't want to show any more weaknesses to this woman knight than he had to.

She, of course, knew that he was underplaying it; in being a knight herself, she knew the importance of making one's wounds and hurts seem less than they really were. She also knew that there would be no point in telling him otherwise.

"How's the stew?" she asked instead.

"Delicious." Bevier looked around a bit. "Where's your… dragon?" He still wasn't comfortable with the idea of a beast that wasn't supposed to be real in the same camp as he was.

"Nightflash?" Valmai shrugged. "He's out and about, I suppose. Flying, perhaps."

"Oh."

The Arcian ate the rest of his meal in silence, his thoughts submerged in his past. The dragon knight studied him for a moment. He really wasn't too bad, now that she thought about it.

_Of course he isn't, silly,_ a voice most assuredly not Nightflash's said in her mind. Her eyes widened.

_Who…?_

_Why, dear Bevier, of course! Who did you think I was talking about?_

_Who are you! Get out of my head!_

Musical laughter pealed through the air—not just her head. Bevier's eyes focused again and he lifted his head, then sighed, closing his eyes.

"Did… did you hear that, too?" Valmai whispered.

"Yes, and you don't have to whisper. She can hear you, anyway," Bevier replied sullenly.

"What are you talking about?" Valmai cast Bevier a baffled look.

"Aphrael," was his only answer.

"Who—" Before she could finish, the harsh sound of shepherd pipes came lilting into the camp, and a little girl who looked about six or so came dancing into the camp. She twirled right up to Bevier and gave him a kiss on the cheek, he smiled albeit a little apologetically, and put down his now-empty bowl.

"This is Aphrael."

The little girl made a happy trill on her pipes.

Valmai stared at the little girl in astonishment. She had seen a child exactly like this in one of her dreams. She had the same dark hair, the same large dark eyes, and even wore the same plain white smock with the little rope tied about her petite waist. Sweet Lacuuna, she even had the same grass-stained feet!

Aphrael lowered the flute from her lips and smiled at Valmai. "Don't look so surprised, Valmai."

Bevier looked at the Child Goddess sharply. "You know her?"

"Bevier, you're a sweetie, but you can be so naïve at times," the little girl told him fondly, patting his cheek. "Of course I know who she is. I was in one of her dreams before she came here."

The Cyrinic's mouth opened to ask her another question, but he stopped himself just short of blasphemy. Shaking his head a bit, he put a hand over his face.

"You knew I was coming here?" Valmai asked suspiciously.

"Well, of course. I helped bring you over. And let me tell you, the gods on your world can be so touchy sometimes! Well, not a touchy as his Elene god," here Aphrael motioned to Bevier, "but some of them were so stuck up! But I like the god you serve." The Child Goddess smiled. She wouldn't tell them yet that she hadn't played a single part in bringing Valmai or her dragon to this world.

Valmai joined her, though the smile was more of one just playing along because they didn't know quite what to make of the situation. "Yes, he's a delightful god."

"Agreeable too. Especially under the right circumstances." Aphrael let out another laugh, and Valmai couldn't help but give her own amused chuckle.

"Did you need anything, Aphrael?" Bevier asked, changing the subject. Gods of different worlds? He was getting in way over his head far too quickly.

She looked at him over her shoulder benignly. "Of course not. I just love being around you!" Whirling, she threw her arms around him and planted several kisses before settling down in his lap.

Of course, Bevier didn't resist the Younger Goddess sitting down in his lap, and he even idly toyed with her hair.

"Why did you stop dreaming, Bevier?" Aphrael asked softly, and he knew that Valmai couldn't hear them, even though she was only a mere three feet away. The knight looked at her, startled.

"Dreaming?"

"About your past… You were such the troublesome boy, Bevier. No one would ever guess the problems that you got yourself into… or that you got Reefe into."

"He got us into plenty of trouble himself—how did you know about Reefe?"

She laughed, her laugh tinkling through the air like little bells. "Bevier, I'm a Goddess. I know these things."

He cleared his throat a bit, as if to change the subject again, and she kissed him some more, until he was more pleasant. "Why don't you go back to sleep? Nothing interesting is going to happen, and you need your rest, anyway."

"But won't Valmai wonder what happened if I just passed out again?"

"She won't even remember that you woke up in the first place, Bevier."

He decided not to press the issue, and felt himself drift back—physically and mentally—until he was asleep on his cloak again.

**---------------------------**

He stood in front of the Chapterhouse in the freezing rain, hugging a hand-me-down rugged cloak that was too big for him closer to himself, trying to keep out the chill. Looking up at the tall walls, a memory of the monastery where he grew up flashed through his mind, but he knew it was different this time. To him, it felt as if he were meeting his destiny. Taking in a deep breath, he shifted his pack on his shoulder and walked up to the gate, where he was greeted by two formidable-looking knights with gleaming white cloaks—well, they would have been gleamed had they not been soaked.

"Who art thou who darest approach a house of God? " one of them asked in a booming voice.

Bevier, shaking in his boots, tried to draw himself up into a person much more courageous than he felt, and answered, if a bit shakily, "B-bevier. I've come to, uh, join your order."

Evidently not expecting this, the knight who had spoken looked down at Bevier.

"You?" he inquired incredulously, quirking a dark brow at the boy.

"Y-yes. Me."

The two armoured men exchanged a look.

"We don't usually accept just anyone from the streets," the knight who had not yet spoken told Bevier haughtily. "Nor anyone as old as you."

"Let him enter," called a voice from behind the knights.

"L-lord Abriel!" the second knight stammered as the two mounted warriors parted for the new speaker.

"Who are you boy?" the one named Lord Abriel asked a very frightened Bevier.

"He's just some street scum—" the first knight started, but his lord raised a hand to silence him.

"Who are you, boy?" Lord Abriel asked Bevier again.

"Bevier… my name is Bevier," he replied.

"What are you doing here, Bevier? Do your parents know where you are?" The lord knelt down in front of the boy. "Even though you seem to be quite the young man, you certainly aren't old enough to be out on your own yet."

"I'm sixteen, and my parents don't care, Sir."

"Why not?" Abriel hid his surprise.

"They're dead. I never knew my parents."

"I see… Well, Bevier, you're a bit older than the boys we normally accept, but I have a good feeling about you. Why don't you come inside, and we'll get you dry and warm all right? Then we can talk some more." Abriel stood and led Bevier inside, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder. The knights stared after them, but then shrugged it off. Lord Abriel knew what he was doing, they decided.

**---**

Abriel didn't look up from his desk as a young novitiate entered the room quietly.

"Thou art, uh, kind enough, to, um…" The young man stumbled over his words.

"'Thou are kind to bid mine lowly self entrance', " Lord Abriel supplied for him. As he looked up, he said, "Thou art noble enough to earn it. Welcome, Bevier."

The Arcian youth's face scrunched up a bit. "I don't know if I'll ever get that straight," he apologised. Remembering himself, he snapped to attention, his now angular face serious. "You summoned me, my Lord?"

"Yes, Bevier. I have some news that you might find interesting." Abriel motioned for Bevier to sit.

The young novitiate sat down in a nearby seat and folded his hands in his robe as he waited for Abriel to speak.

"I've found out some information about your parents, Bevier," the Cyrinic Preceptor said after a few moments. The other Arcian's eyes lit up. "Evidently, those monks found you with your dead mother. There was a tremendous fire, and only she escaped… with you." He paused. "You are the sole owner of their estate… Bevier, you're a viscount."

The young Arcian didn't know what to say. "A… a… viscount? Me?"

"Yes, Bevier. You."

**---------------------------**

Valmai glanced over at Bevier. He was sleeping better, at least. Idly, she wondered what this stranger was dreaming about. Nightflash, who had returned from wherever he had been, lifted his head to look at her.

_He fascinates you, doesn't he?_ he asked softly.

"He's just… so different," she replied. Wrapping her arms about her drawn-up knees, Valmai sighed and closed her eyes. "He claims to be a knight of the church, but…" She shrugged. "He's not at all like the ones I've encountered."

_It is a different world, remember?_ Nightflash reminded her.

"I suppose you're right," she conceded. " I mean, he even seemed to think you shouldn't exist." They both smiled a little.

Birds flew up from the canopy way off in the forest. Nightflash looked in that direction, and Valmai opened her eyes. In the distance, they heard a woman scream.

**---------------------------**

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay… real life got in the way, and then I had the worst writer's block of my life, and I feel like I'm losing my literary touch… it's really depressing… -.-;;; But… I finally finished it. And there's a bit left over in my mind to start another chapter! Yay! No more dark rooms for me! dance dance


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